


Don't Move

by Crownonymous



Series: Whumptober 2019 [12]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternative Universe - Kingdom, Angst, Brotherly Love, Brothers, Character Death, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Platonic Relationships, Whump, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:07:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21586594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crownonymous/pseuds/Crownonymous
Summary: Roman was King and the people were angry. Roman was king and the people are hurting. Roman was king and the people demanded his head.
Relationships: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders
Series: Whumptober 2019 [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1522484
Comments: 12
Kudos: 39





	Don't Move

**Author's Note:**

> Day 12 of Whumptober 2019. First posted on my tumblr, crossposting on AO3. Low-key my favourite fic out of the entire Whumptober collection. The "Did they" speech executed my heart, body, and soul

The kingdom was angry. The people were livid. The walls of the castle would not hold.

The Crown Prince, his brother, his twin, had garnered the ire and disgust of every single one of their subjects. Their people. The same men and women who had cheered deafeningly at the Prince’s eighteenth birthday, who had venerated the ground he walked on, now demanded his execution. Their guards did nothing. Their guards had stepped aside and let the angry mob charge through the gates. Their guards were among the crowd calling for death.

The Queen, long dead. The King, ailing in his bed so foolishly gave control of the kingdom to his brother. Roman was the rightful heir, the one who would seize the throne once the King has passed. Their uncle, a Duke, was to be Regent to help guide the kingdom while Roman grew. Until Roman’s coronation. His influence should have ended a two weeks ago, when Roman was crowned the new King after his eighteenth birthday.

Power, it turned out, corrupted men. Even family.

Power made people do dastardly things to keep it. Lie. Cheat. Steal. Kill. Poison hundreds of innocent people, steal food stores from hungry people, murder children to incite rage.

The Duke was absent throughout the entirety of Roman’s coronation. No one batted an eye. No one thought it was odd. Roman was understandably upset that their Uncle couldn’t attend, but it wasn’t enough to bring down the brilliant smile on his face when Father’s crown was finally placed upon his head. Remus didn’t care for their Uncle. His brother was king, Remus would remain a Prince and stay by his twin’s side. Remus would be there for Roman. Until the end of time. Until his final breath.

That was the plan.

Neither of them thought of their Uncle raiding villages under the “orders” of the “New King.”

Neither of them thought of the lies the Duke’s men propagated throughout the Kingdom.

Neither of them thought that maybe, just maybe, their lives would be taken before it even began.

The kingdom was angry. Angry at the king for desecrated villages, burning farms, killing children. The kingdom was angry as sickness spread and medicine was denied. The kingdom was angry at the new King enjoying his coronation with feasts and wine when the poorer citizens couldn’t even afford to eat. The Kingdom was angry that the King still refused to fix the rotten grain silos.

The kingdom was angry.

Furious.

And it culminated in a mob.

Of course, conveniently, the Duke was not there to protect his fool nephews.

The front doors to the castle had been ripped open. Remus had seen the people, Roman’s people, flood in. So easily manipulated with lies and treachery. Remus had seen the servants flee, all of them in cheap cloaks, scurrying out the servant’s door near the kitchen. Remus had seen anger, betrayal, and pain in the eyes of innocent men and women the Duke had used to further his ambitions.

It was a shame that Remus would ever see the barbarous faces of Roman’s subjects, snarling at the guillotine and demanding the executioner to hasten. It was a shame that Remus had to hear spiteful words that bit into flesh deeper than any blade. It was a shame that their Uncle was not present at the execution, just so Remus could make an attempt on the Duke’s life for ruining Roman’s.

The execution would take place in the town square. A large, open space for everyone to witness King Roman’s death. A raised wooden platform was set on one end of the square, and hundreds of people on the other, shoving for the privilege of being closest, of seeing the life drain from the King’s eyes. On the platform stood the executioner, a priest as is custom, and the so called “False King.”

A King who did not deserve the crown.

A King who, in his short two weeks of reign, ruined his entire kingdom.

A King who condigned death.

Roman was only eighteen. His biggest problem was figuring out how to become a ruler after so many years of being coddled by the Duke. Roman had lovingly given each and every one of the servants a handmade flower crown. Roman remembered the names and faces of everyone who worked at the castle from the highest ranking guard to the lowest scullery maid. Roman had done nothing he had been accused of. Roman was trying to arrange a meeting with a foreign dignitary for better trade. Roman was trying to resume work on the peace treaty their father was working on before his death. Two weeks wasn’t enough for Roman to do anything; good or bad.

Just yesterday morning, Roman had almost collapsed into a panic, worrying over the future of the kingdom, whether or not he’d be ready to carry on their Father’s legacy, if he should have continued his studies before assuming the throne, if his people were going to be happy, if he would be enough.

Just yesterday afternoon, Roman had tirelessly created draft after draft after draft of a new trade agreement he had thought up, one that would introduce new foreign products into their kingdom, but allow citizens to ship handmade pottery, rugs, clothes, and even paintings to different countries. Constantly trying to find new, innovative ways for the kingdom to flourish. Trying to find ways for his people to prosper.

Just yesternight, Roman had come into Remus’ room. There were cuts on his fingers, a tired look to his eyes, and a plate cradled gently in his hands. Cake. Or some other form of pastry. It was lopsided, forming an odd shape and decorated with thick whipped cream and various sliced up fruits to make up for its peculiar appearance. A green candle was stuck in the middle, lighting up Remus’ dark room.

“It’s for you, Remus,” his twin had said sheepishly. “Everyone celebrated my eighteenth birthday but no one celebrated yours.” There were two forks on the plate. One for each of them. Remus set the plate on his bed, not particularly caring that he now had powdered sugar on his sheets. Roman gave them both a fork. “I admit. It’s not my finest creation. Not visually anyway I assure you the taste is fine!”

A snort of laughter. Remus took the first bite. Despite sounding so confident that the cake or pastry or whatever dessert Roman tried to make would be delicious, his brother, the King, waited with bated breath. “Well?”

Instead of answering, Remus just took another bite. “If you don’t eat this, dear Brother,” said Remus, mouth stuffed with food, “I will consume it all.”

Roman laughed with him, and they ate well into the night. They traded jokes, quips, bantered like they used to before Roman was swamped with work.

“Sorry I couldn’t give you your birthday present faster.”

The fact that Roman taught himself how to bake despite his other duties, just to give Remus a gift at all, was more than enough.

Remus didn’t say that.

Remus didn’t say that he loved Roman more than anything in his life. That Roman was the best damn brother in the whole world. That Roman was a good person and that Roman deserved to be happy. That Remus loved him. That Remus couldn’t have asked for a better family. That Remus would be there by his side. That Remus planned on teaching himself how to bake to return the favour, so they could do something together as brothers.

The crowd was deafening. The ones closest to the platform had the audacity to stare directly and demand that the executioner cut him down before the priest could finish reciting his prayer.

_ A King like you doesn’t deserve to be blessed _ , they said.

_ A King like you doesn’t deserve to be prayed for. You’re a failure as a ruler. A disgrace to your father, _ they said.

_ A King like you deserves to die _ , they said.

Presumptuous fucking backstabbers. Sheep. Nothing but worthless peasants who couldn’t even fucking hope to be half the man Roman is. Couldn’t even  _ see  _ the man Roman is. Pathetic, recreant fools. How dare they. How dare they say such baleful words to someone they didn’t even know. Remus shook, fists clenched, lips curled back in a snarl. If only they knew. If only they knew how much Roman loved his people. How much he would sacrifice for them. How much he fucking suffered for them.

Did the people know that Roman barely slept at all, burning the candle until the morning came, trying to fix the damage their Uncle had caused?

Did the people know that Roman wept brokenly when he heard news of the burnt farms, the murdered children, the poisoned silos?

Did the people know that Roman had ordered that the excess food in the royal storehouse be shipped out to outlying villages for the hungry?

Did the people know Roman had the fancy curtains in the castle torn down and stitched up to make clothing for those who couldn’t buy any?

Did the people know Roman sold his rich clothes, his jewelry, his beloved paintings, so he could afford to purchase medicine for the sick?

Did the people fucking know that Roman was willing to lock himself in a loveless marriage with a neighbouring Queen so her kingdom would send aid?

Did the people fucking know that Roman fully prepared himself to languish in misery for the rest of his life pretending to be in love with someone he’s not?

Did the people fucking know that Roman would trade his happiness for theirs?

Did they?

DID THEY!?

Damn them.

Damn them all.

The crowd boiled with rage. People shrieked. They stamped their feet. They filled the air with hateful cries. They drowned out the tolling of the church bell, off in the distance. Remus could only barely see the tall spire, the tiny black dots in the sky as birds flew away from the ringing bell.

Remus and Roman had played there as children. When they were still innocent. Before they had to grow up. Before Roman was pulled away to learn how to be King. Before Remus took up the sword, and the bow, and the spear, and the mace, determined to protect his brother from any and all who would do him harm.

The church had a garden in full view of the bell. Remus and Roman had played tag in that garden, fell asleep on the grass in that garden, ate tea time snacks in that garden. Rose bushes sprawled across every inch of that place. Roman would always coo at the lush red petals. Remus himself preferred the thorny vines.

“I’m like the flower part, and you’re the thorn part” said Roman once, when they were children. “I’m the most handsomest man in all the land! Like a rose flower that will in-suh-pire people to be better! I want people to look at me and forget they were ever sad. I want to make this kingdom as coloury as I can make it! We’re going to have paintings and music and all the flowers.”

“But without the thorns, the flowers would get all stepped on or grow un-con-troll-able. And the thorns are pretty too, but you have to look  _ reeeal _ closely! That’s you!” Remus remembered. “You’re the bestest brother I could ever have. We’ll both grow up real strong and protect the kingdom like Dad did! And we’ll always be together forever and ever and ever!”

Did the people know that all Roman ever wanted was to protect them?

Did the people know that Roman was ready to surrender himself to death just to make them happy?

Did the people know?

“It is time.” The executioner grumbled, his voice making the crowd erupt in deafening cheers. “King Roman Dearil Bryning, for the crimes against your own kingdom, you are hereby sentenced to death.” The crowd was rabid. They jeered at the stage, spat as close as they can, belittled and mocked and demeaned.

“Any last words, King Roman?”

Remus forced a smile on his face. He stared the executioner in the eye. Stared down every last person in the crowd. Etched their sadistic smiles into his memory. Tried to remember as many names as he can. In hell, or wherever Remus would end up, he would be sure to drag every single motherfucker down with him.

The crowd waited. Waited for King Roman’s final words. Words that would never come. The white streak in his hair can be cut. The mustache can be shaved off. He can wear silk robes, he can arch his back and hold his head proudly in the air. He can wear Roman’s crown on his head. He can go to the execution in Roman’s place, and none would be the wiser.

Remus can fake a smile. Remus can fake a haughty sneer. Remus can fake not being angry at the people who turned their backs so easily on his brother.

But he can’t fake a steady voice.

Not when Roman stood in the crowd. Not when Roman risked being seen just so Remus could see him one last time.

It hurt switching places with Roman. It hurt seeing his brother so crushed. It hurt having to force Roman down the servant’s passage just so he could escape. It hurt having to watch through a window as Roman disappeared into the night.

It hurt even more seeing Roman right in front of him. Crying. Desolate. It hurt not being able to step down the platform and shield Roman from the world who harboured such hate for him. It hurt not being able to be beside his brother. It hurt having to let Roman carry everything alone.

But it would hurt even more if the crowd’s silence allowed Roman’s grief to be heard, if Roman were to be discovered.

If one of them had to die, better for it to be Remus.

“King Roman” shouldered his way past the executioner with a derisive scoff that put the crowd to shame. He unclenched his fists, loosened his muscles and braced himself as the executioner’s boot slammed into his back, forcing him down. The lunette snapped around his neck like a vice. Remus, in true, kingly fashion, kept his head raised.

His father would not bow.

Roman would not bow.

Remus would not bow.

The crown stayed firmly on his head. Sunlight streamed down, glinting off the gold. The executioner hefted the rope higher, the creak of the pulleys inching the blade upwards.

Remus stared straight ahead. Unafraid. He had done all that he could. He gave Roman a chance. A second chance. A chance for Roman to live. For Roman to go somewhere far away. For Roman to be with someone he actually wanted to be with. For Roman to be free.

The crowd pulsed. Like a heartbeat. Like a single, living entity fueled by violence. Amidst it all, Roman stood. There were still tears in his eyes. But he was smiling. Crookedly, with the edges of his lips wobbling. His hands were clasped together. Roman stared at Remus, trying his damnedest to put on a brave face. A happy face. So Remus could carry the image of Roman’s smile into the afterlife.

Remus should have told Roman that he was proud of him. That Roman was strong. That he was brave. That his passion and drive to be better lit up even the darkest of rooms. Remus should have told Roman that Roman had the power to dream entire galaxies in his head, that Roman could make each and every one of those dreams come true, that Roman could achieve everything he wanted to.

Remus should have told Roman that he had a talent for cooking, that the dessert was decadent. Remus should have told Roman that he did grow up to be the most handsomest man in all the land. Remus should have told Roman that Roman was a brilliant rose in full bloom. A rose that thousands admired. A rose that brought colour and life to a bleak, harsh world.

Remus should have told Roman that he was the best fucking brother Remus could ever have.

The executioner let go of the rope.

Remus settled for a smile. A smile that he hoped could tell Roman everything he didn’t have time to say. Remus hoped that the fire in Roman would never fade. Remus hoped that Roman would remember him. Remus hoped that his smile could bring as much joy to Roman as Roman’s smiles did to Remus.

Remus hoped that Roman would keep creating. Would keep moving forward. Would keep smiling.

Remus hope-

The blade sank down. Everything vanished in an instant.

Remus hoped that Roman would continue living.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to know what I'm writing next click over [HERE](https://crownonymous.tumblr.com/sched)  
> If you want to stay updated on the progress I've made on my fics click [HERE](https://crownonymous.tumblr.com/tagged/crownonynews)  
> And if you want to come say hi or just get bombarded with random posts, you can find me over [HERE](https://landofsaltandshade.tumblr.com/)
> 
> If you’re interested in more Sanders Sides post, my TS Sideblog is over [HERE](https://hufflepuff-deceit.tumblr.com/fanfic)
> 
> 1\. Yes, this is absolutely the plot of Servant of Evil. I made a tumblr post about it, thought about, and then wrote a whole-ass fic  
> 2\. Yes. I fucking cried when I wrote this


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